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L. IDfCOUf VEAZEY, EDITOR. Friday Morning, March 35, 1859. *” “ •**•< • u The communication of “ Observer” can not claim attention while unaccompanied by his real name. This is an invariable rate. pt - The Alabama Educational Journal is deci dedly the best publication of its character with which we are acquainted. It deserves, have no doubt will win, a high place in the esteem of the people of that State, and of the teachers throughout the South. Published in Montgomery, Ala. at $1 per year, in advance. London Quarterly. The January number of this standard pe riodical is filled with nine excellent papers, on a variety of topics, historical, philosoph ical and political. It opens with an article on athe “ Correspondence of Marquis Corn wallis,” a name which will be forever asso ciated with our Revolutionary struggle. Then follows an able review of anew edition of Shakspeare’s works. This is followed by “ Consular Service Pius Bth and Gregory 16th“ Patents;” “Lodging, Food and Dress of Soldiers ;” “Life and Writings of Johnson;” “ Bread” and “Reform.” Re-pub lished by L. Scott and Cos. New York, at S3 a-year. Blackwood and either of the Reviews, $5; Blackwood and all the Reviews, $lO. Men never fail to render themselves ridic ulous by professing the fondness of an ama teur for things to which their talents are un ited, and which are incompatible with their positions. When attained without effort or affectation, there is a charm in the possession of some elegant accomplishment. They serve to soften the austere exactness of the business man, as a vine or rose bush relieves the regular angles of a building. IBut when these are made the chief objects of attention and paraded with ostentatious vanity, it indicates a weakness that renders the man contemptible. There is no impro priety in astateman’s making himself a pro ficient in music; he would, however, de tract largely from his dignity if he made ;this the highest aim of his ambition. James the First diminished’ the respect which is justly due his practical common sense by his attempts at authorship, and Frederic the Great rendered himself a butt of ridicule for his court wits by his passion for litera ture. All have heard of the Eastern Prince who entertained a fondness for mice, which >-led him to commit a series of absurdities, which were finally productive of much mis chief, both to himself and his people. A man must not permit his pleasure to be a of his business, if he wishes to win honor and success. Doubt is the parent of thought. Those who have received their opinions ready % molded at the hands of others, and have never doubted their truth, have spent little thought in regard to their merits, and have consequently realized but few of their prac tical benefits. It is only when we begin to doubt that that reasoning is brought into play by which truth is evolved, and the belief established on a firm basis. The convic- which arise from such mental exercise Possess a high intelligence and efficient en ergy. He who has had every plank of his faith torn away, and his mind thrown into a confused chaos of doubt, and from this has worked out some great principle, is pre pared to produce a revolution in the world of thought. There be those who shrink from doubting in matters of religious belief, as a great folly or heinous sin. If, however, the mind be rightly balanced, it is not dangerous ; if the principles be correct, it is not sinful. Some do indeed fall into the darkness of infidelity, or grope inextricably in the labarynths of atheism; but these begin wrong. They start, not simply with doubt regarding any theory, but with a firm, settled belief in an opposing theory. They have formed a prejudice, and no argument can force con viction upon their minds until that is over come. It is not a matter of wonder, then, that they float on through a sea of errors and never find a shore. That kind of doubting which is profitable, is eager in inquiry and untiring in investi gation. It accepts no proposition as an un questionable truth until it be proven, but on the other hand, it does not pronounce every thing a fallacy which is beyond its 1 WfUJJrtffiUiisiuh. There are mysteries in the matter around us which no force of human reason can explain; there are higher mys teries in the revelation of God, and still more inscrutible mysteries are those which enshroud the soul’s future and the secrets of eternity. But these are subjects alike beyond the range of our doubts and investi gation. All that we can do, is humbly to accept the light which has been vouchsafed, and trust in the wisdom of a Providence that has revealed no more. Work while it is called to-day. What though it yet be morning, with a warm sun, clear sky, and an atmosphere that sends the blood bounding with the vigor of health through every vein ? Each fleeting moment brings nearer the approaching night. Soon, the last hour will be upon you, and then you will awake to the painful consciousness that your task is not completed. Clouds of darkness may envelope you before the pe riod assigned for the night’s arrival has come. Be up, then, and doing while there is light around you, health in your frame and hope in your soul. Work while it is called to-day. There is much to be done.’ The Great Task-master on high has assigned no duties above your abilities, but He imperatively demands their performance. If you idle away all the hours of the day, expect no reward when the la borers return from the vineyard. If you lay until the evening in luxurious ease and then expect by strenuous exertions to re trieve the waste, your hope is a vain pre sumption. Go forth and bear the heat and burden; toil ardently, faithfully, unremit tingly until told that your task is done. Work while it is called to-day. The day is passing with hurried flight, and will soon be .gone. Ere long the limbs that obey your bodies will lie stiff and cold in death; the wind that now fans your blooming cheek will whistle above your grass-grown grave. Your term cf probation, whether its de signs have been carried out or neglected, will have ended. Your good resolutions will either have become noble deeds, shin ing far brighter than earthly jewels in a crown of eternal glory, or paving stones for the streets of the damned. No work or de vice, no skill or industry can change, or in any way improve your fate. Now is the time when earthly fame can be acquired, . and heavenly glory won; now, and now F alone, mi&t you decide your destiny for time now, while it is calle<no-day, for the night hen all work must end. SUICIDE. It may be safely set down as an unques tionable fact, that no person will commit suicide while in a state of perfect sanity. That love of life inherent in our being is too strong to be overcome by any circumstances, so long as the mental faculties remain un deranged. Yet, many lay suicidal hands upon themselves, leaving behind plain and coherent reasons for thus terminating their existence. They seem to have surveyed all the prospects around them, and to have de liberately taken that course which would hurl them into the unknown of another world. We are not, however, to judge of such cases entirely by appearances. The highest mental excitement is often conceal ed behind a calm exterior, and we are not always to conclude that a man is not mad, because there is a method in his madness. Indeed, that kind of insanity in which one faculty alone is deranged, while the others remain in their normal condition, is the most fatal of all in its consequences. The phenomena of mind are in many respects precisely analogous to those of matter. As any harmful influence to which the body may be subjected, falls upon the weakest part, so any thing which affects the mind will most affect those faculties which are weakest. Thus is it that a trouble which some might deem trifling, falling with its whole force upon one part of the mind, drives that to frenzy and produces the most lamentable consequences. There can be no doubt that the larger number of suicides have resulted in this way. Among the ancients, suicide was not con demned in very strong terms, even by the most rigid moralists, and he who adopted this means of saving himself from an igno minious death, was considered as having acted the part of the brave. Hence, we find that great numbers of their distin guished men perished by their own hands. Socrates alone, of all their wise men, had the courage to die as a philosopher should, bow ing with a meek dignity to a decision which he felt to be cruel, and posterity has deci ded to have been unjust. Demosthenes poisoned himself with poison which he had prepared in anticipation of the emergency which did occur. Mithridates never entered upon a campaign without a supply of poi sons, with which he designed to kill him self, if in danger of being made a captive. Cato, “ the last of the Romans,” slew him self, when he found that Utica could no longer be defended. Cleopatra, with heart less cruelty, had tested upon others the effi cacy of various poisons, that she might de cide which to employ for her own death ; and when threatened with a place in the triumphal procession of the victorious Au gustus, she fearfully placed the asp to her bosom and provoked its bite. How many of the common rank wrought their own death, we can not now know, but we may reasonably conclude that the number was very large, when examples among the great were so numerous. Although condemned by the spirit and teachings of the Bible, we do not observe that the number of suicides has been much diminished by the prevalence of Christianity. Almost every day we hear of someone who has terminated his own existence, for which there is often a very trivial cause assigned. Sometimes it is a disappointment in love, sometimes a defeat in schemes of ambition, and sometimes a failure in the pursuit of office. Thousands slay themselves while under the maddening influence of the wine cup. But the real cause of most suicides is unknown. It is some sorrow that has been fed and nourished in secret until it deranges the mind and hurries the man on to self destruction. The little note left behind, setting forth reasons for the rash step, is de signed more to mislead than to explain. Though deranged, the ruling passion remains strong in death, and they strive to hide a grief which, by being hidden, has become greater than they can bear. Tlie Farm and. tlie Farmer, “Much of the character of every man may be read in his house.” This was a re mark of the late Mr. Downing, and though true in the main, must be taken with some modification. Persons must build according to their means. Many, had they the abili ty, would cause their houses to tell a far different story of their character than they now do. The log cabin or the cottage that has weathered the storm for a score of years would soon come down, and on its ruins a mansion would arise, bespeaking its owner a man of taste and munificence, with a spice of vanity and love of display. In ore-half of the cases, persons who build are dissatisfied with the work after it is completed, and too late to make a change without subjecting themselves to great ex pense. The house may show the character of the architect, but not of the proprietor, unless it is according to his taste. Notone in a thousand, if under the necessity of re building, would make the second house like the first, while many who build fine houses have little to do with the work aside from lurnishing the means. The character of the farmer, however, may be read in his farm, in the most unmistaka ble language. He may write most elegantly and truthfully, lay down the best of rules, and exhort all to observe them with ener gy and zeal—he may talk most fluently, de liver agricultural lectures for the enlight ment of his fellow-farmers, which all may hear with profit ; lay down maxims which, if followed, would make every man a good farmer, but all this tells not the character of the man. He may violate his own rules, disregard his own maxims, and, like the drunkard who preaches temperance, be a living ex ample of the evils which he condemns. But the farm tells the character of the man in language so truthful and so unmistakable that “he who runs may read.” There is no opportunity for concealmeut—no chance for disguise. If the farmer is an enterpris ing, diligent man, it is told by the horses and cattle in their rounded forms, sleek coats and bright eyes, in their playful, hap py freaks, and in their quiet, comfortable repose. It is read in the growing crops and the well-filled barns—related to every traveler by the fences and the gates, the barns and the stables. It is heard in the lowing of the sheep, the satisfied grunts from the pig pen, ana proclaimed from the very house top, in the clarion notes of the cock. It is seen in thrifty orchards, in the air of neat ness and thoroughness that pervades the whole domain. The farm may be small, the buildings cheap, but natural difficulties are, as far as possible, overcome, and the owner, it is very plainly to be seen, is mas ter, instead'of the slave, of circumstances. The slothful, negligent farmer cannot hide himself. His character and his faults are emblazoned on the dead tops of his or chard trees —chattered by the loose boards that dangle in the wind—bleated by the half-starved calves—told in the pitiful looks and speaking eyes of forlorn horses and cat tle. The poor fences and poorer crops, the fine weeds among the corn and potatoes, and finer thistles in the meadow, speak in living words, the habits of the owner. The farm may be naturally the best in the country, the building costly, but these things only set off in more brilliant colors the forlornness that pervades the whole. Was this truth ever remembered, that the character of the farmer is seen in the farm, we think many, would strive to have their farms speak lor them better things than they now now do.— Rural New Yorker. LITERARY GEORGIA CRUSADER. Good and Bad. Habits. It is a very common, though very mista ken notion, that bad habits are much stron ger than the good. The idc a, we suppose, has obtained from the lamentable fact, that bad habits are much more common than good, and hence exhibitions of their power are more often seen. There are too many evil practices which become habits almost imperceptibly, whereas the formation of a virtuous habit is the result of effort. A man drinks a dram to-day, in a month he drinks two, and in the course of a few years he be comes a confirmed drunkard, without being conscious of the growth of the vice, or able to recount the several steps of its progress. His neighbor, perhaps, in the meantime, has been endeavoring to do some good every day. It has, however, been attended by much positive exertion and much self-sacri fice, and often, when he has lain down at night, he has felt that he has fallen far short of his purposes. But slowly and labo riously the practice grew into a habit, and that increased day by day, until its strength was irresistible, When fully confirmed, he was no less involuntarily driven to the per formance of some good deed, than was the toper to his cups and drunken revelry. We some times feel surprised to see a man continue in the active and laborious duties of his vocation long after he has ac cumulated an ample fortune. Some would explain his conduct by saying that “ the more we get the more we want,” and that his avarice was not yet satisfied. This is undoubtedly true with regard to some; but the greater number have formed industrial habits, which they find it impossible to re sist. Thus is it seen that industry, when, without rising to the dignity of a principle, it becomes a settled habit, is stronger than idleness. The latter will give way, and al low its victim to bestir himself actively un der the lash of necessity ; but the former will continue in force long after all necessity for its exercise has ceased. The sluggard, when grim want stares him in the face, can lay aside his sloth and be energetic; but nothing can suddenly render the-industri ous man a sluggard. We remember to have read, years ago, a litle story which, besides containing an ex cellent moral, was valuable for the illustra tion which it afforded of the force of indus trial habits. A plain, simple-hearted man dwelt in the vicinity of a town, where he won an honest, though hard-earned living. His hopes looked forward to no brighter fate; but knowing that his labors would bring him a competence for his moderate wants, and, aided by a prudent wife, he was content. But, owing to the expansion of the city, the little tract of land on which he lived became immensely valuable, and he sold it for a price which placed him in the possession of an independent fortune. He now gave up his occupation, bought a house up town and became a gentleman of leisure. For a time he was pleased and en tertained by the novelty of his changed cir cumstances. But he soon wearied, and sighed for the days which he had spent in poverty, ere fortune had relieved him from the necessity of work. His habits of indus try and economy still continued, but the opportunities for their indulgence were gone. Thus idle and listless he drew out several years of wretchedness, and at last sank miserably into an untimely grave* Thus would it prove in every instance, with every class of men, that an attempt to de part from long established habits is produc tive of the most decided unhappiness. It is a great encouragement in the prac tice of virtue, that the effort must continu ally grow less. A good deed performed to day, will render its performance more easy to-morrow, and what, in the one instance, costs a severe sacrifice, will be, in the other, attended by sincere pleasure. Thus, each act assists in fostering correct principles, and incites the man to do and to be good. It is in this way that the moral powers are ex panded, and the soul attains that elevation which the Creator designed it to occupy. Singular Incident. A Washington correspondent of the Bal timore Sun, referring to the death of Post master General Brown, says : In his office, on last Saturday four weeks, an incident took place, the solemn verification of which vividly revives it in the mind of the only survivor of the three gentlemen present at the interview. Postmaster General Brown was signing up his official journal—his clerk standing on his left, turning over the pages as each sig nature was affixed. Mr. Marron, then the efficient and vigorous Third Assistant Post master General, having under charge at that critical period the important responsi bilities of the finance division, entered the room to obtain Mr. B.’s signature to a draft. Turning to the right he cheerfully signed the paper, and Mr. M. was retiring, when the head of the department remarked, “Marron, I wish you would come in and see me when I get through with this.” Being then long after the usual office hours, Mr. M. turned and said, “Do you wish to see me again to-day, sir ?” “Yes,” replied Mr. Brown, “I want to know if you have set your house in order ; for, in a month or less, we shall have neither a habi tation or a name here.” Mr. Marron, with a conviction that his official house was al ways in order, paused a moment, and with surprise and a smile, remarked, “My house in order ?” “ Yes, sir—your house in order ; for in a month or less we shall neither have habita tion or a name here.” “ Well, Governor,” replied Mr. Marron, “if the storm comes, I can stand it as well as others,” and then, pleasantly left the room. The lamented head of the department then said that his remarks referred to the action of Congress, indicating the defeat of important measures then under review. How prophetic—lamentably so—wa3 the prediction of that hour ! On that very day tour weeks the efficient and beloved Assis tant was followed to the tomb, and now the nation is called to mourn over the enligh tened, patriotic, virtuous statesman from whose lips, with so much emphasis, it fell. Strange Deaths. —Thomas Carlyle has his own way of saying things, and often brings facts from the past, unnoticed or un cared for by ether historians. In his Life of Frederick the Great, of Prussia, he intro duces a strange piece of history. In speak ing of the King’s birth, he says: “Frederick, commonly called Frederick the Great, was born in the palace of Berlin, on the 24th of January, 1712. His father was Frederick William, Crown Prince of Prussia, his mother Sophie Dorothee of Hanover, daughter of our King George the I. There had been already two princes be fore the young Frederick; but both had died of the pomps land vanities of this world, as we may say; for the one was killed (for so at least it was rumored,) by the noise of the cannon firing for joy over it, and the other crushed to death by the weighty dress put on it at christening time, especially by the little crown it wore, which had left, a visible black mark upon the poor soft in fant’s brow.” ~ - . Gen. Wm. T. Haskell died in the Luna tic Asylum at Hopkinsville, Ky., on the 13th inst. Box-tier- Life. Those who live in an old settled country amid civilization and refinement, know lit tle of the changes and vicissitudes to which men are subject. Many live long lives un marked by any incident worthy of a chron icler’s pen, and die amid the scenes that witnessed their birth. Their lives may be agreeable while passing, but not interesting when past. There will be no pleasing an ecdotes of by-gone days to tell around the winter fireside, which are so attractive to the young, and even revive the fires of youth in the calm decrepitude of age. This lot falls only to those who peril their lives upon the borders, experience its romantic inci dents and embark in its daring adventures. They live in the fullest sense of that term, often compressing into a day more changing experiences than others have known in a lifetime extended to the limit of three score and ten. There are many things which render bor der life attractive to adventurous persons. Not the least of these is its spirit of lawless ness. A bold man feels an intense pleasure in entering on wilds where no power con trols his will, and where he is dependent sole’y on his own right arm for protection and support. He contemplates danger, not with a blanching of the lips and a tremor of the nerves, but as an opportunity for the display of his skill and prowess. The whoop of the savage or the growl of the lurking wild beast become welcome music in his ear. He loves adventures merely for the high wrought excitement which they afford, and will expose himself to the most eminent dangers for the sake of this pleasure. Time never wears wearily with him, for every day is marked by some incident, and no one is a repetition of the preceding. Such a life, of course, begets a fondness for change, and novelty becomes a necessity of existence. We accordingly find that those who have spent years upon the fron tiers, are ever ready to engage in any expe dition which promises excitement. From the last, they may have escaped with ex treme difficulty and with the most eminent hazard of life; but this does not deter them from an adventure in every way as perilous. To all the hardships and difficulties which nature presents in an unbroken country, they soon become inured. They learn to make their way through forests before un trod by human feet, to stem the rushing torrents of mountain streams, and to en dure the peltings of elemental storms. All their thoughts are bent solely on the ways and means of accomplishing their purposes. Hence, when their plans are deliberately devised and carried out with their accus tomed energy, they rarely, if ever, fail of success. They become exclusively practical, devoting no time to, and taking no pleas ure in any thing which is not directly and palpably useful. Such is the life which has drawn many a young man from the quietude of his pa ternal fireside to encounter its hardships, and such is the character which it forms. It must be admitted that, in its freedom from all restraint and its continued novelty, it presents many attractions. But there is another side to the picture. Amid these toils, dangers and sufferings, the heart har dens almost as fast as the body. Opposed to a cunning foe which they can neither respect nor regard with a generous rivalry, the worst feelings of their nature are brought into exercise. They are shut out from the light of the world, and dead to all the gen tle amenities of society. They have to fore go all that, in our estimation, constitutes the pleasant or agreeable, and deal alone with hard, stubborn realities. Under such influences, even their finer sensibilities are wild in their development, and assume a form almost as fearful as the fiercest pas sions. As pioneers, borderers perform an indis pensable service. They open and remove the rougher obstructions from the highways which succeeding generations smooth down and level. Their task is arduous, and re quires strong arms and brave hearts for its accomplishment. Few are aware of the im portance of their work, or ever live to see its results ; but they have their reward in the continued excitement accompanying their labors, and the pleasures which it cre ates. PERSONAL. Dr. Shumard has received the appoint ment of State Geologist of Texas. Maj. Wm. Swan, of Knoxville, Tenn., one of the oldest and most respected citi zens of that place, died on the 13th inst. Hardy Bryan, for many years a citizen of Thomas county, in this State, died of small pox, in Mobile some days ago. Jas. Robb, the New Orleans banker, is about to make San Francisco, Cal., his per manent residence. T. K. Hervey, the poet, died in England Feb. 26th, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. He was the editor of the London Athame vm. Rev. Justinian Williams, a well known Methodist minister of Alabama, who had been married three weeks, died on the 24th ult. Hon. E. A. Nisbet has been chosen to deliver the Annual oration before the Lite rary Societies of Emory College at the Com mencement in July next. Capt. Daniel Brown, believed to be the last survivor of the Wyoming massacre, died at Wyalusing, Pa., on the 3d inst., at the age of 88 years. Hoh. FRANcts H. Cone, who has been confined to his room by indisposition for several weeks, is seriously ill; and that his attending physicians entertain little hope of his restoration to health. Col. Thomas M. Hogan has been elected Alderman of the second ward, in Colum bus, Georgia, to supply the vacancy occa sioned by the resignation of Dr. J. A. Urquhart. Hon. W. L. Yancey has gone to Florida, his health not being good as it was a month since. His friends hope that the mild cli mate of the “land of flowers” will benefit him. Judge Geo. Strawbride, of the First Dis trict Court, of New Orleans, died in that city on Friday, 11th inst., in the seventy fourth year of his age. Judge S. was a na tive of Maryland, but moved to New Or leans about forty years ago. Hon. Vespasion Ellis, late of Virginia, and Editor of the “ American Organ,” pub lished in Washington City during the Ad ministration of Mr. Pierce, and for a short time after the inauguration of Mr. Buchan an, died in that city on the 14th instant, from dropsy—aged fifty-pine years. CLIPPINGS. Near one hundred cadets are in actual atten dance at the Military Institute this term. It is said that a descendant of Montezuma’s brother is professor of the native language and of law in the University of Mexico. A greyhound puppy, in England, was lately sold for the sum of SI,OOO. Puppies must be in demand there. .<• • The Female Medical College at New York, has conferred the degree ofM. D. upon five ladies, three of whom are from Pennsylvania and two from New York. Every girl who intends to qualify for marriage should go through a course ot cookery. Unfor tunately, few wives are able to dress anything but themselves. Quite a progressive step has been taken by the the Sultan ofTurkey. He has ordered a re-o ganization yf the Turkish schools, and that pro vision be made for the education of girls. Heenan, pugilist, has sent his challenge to fight any man in England for two thousand five hun dred dollars, so it is not at all unlikely there will shortly be another ‘set to.’ The household expenses of the late Postmaster General Brown, are said to have been $30,000 a year—a sum his munificent income fully enabled him to pay without embarassment. Not to know at large of things remote, From use, obscure and subtle, but to know That which before us lies in daily life, Is the prime wisdom.” A good man, who has seen much of the world, and is not tired of it, says, “The grand esssen tials to happiness in this life are, something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.” A citizen, who was a moderate drinker, was besought by a temperance agent to affix his sig nature to an abstinence pledge. He declined, giving various reasons; at last, however, he fin ished by observing, “Well, I’m willing to sub scribe a little to help you along; put me down for six months.” At a late soiree at Count de Kissleff’s anew Polish Waltz was introduced, in which eachgen tleman holds a glass filled with champagne, and the grand point is to go around the room without spilling the wine. Some young Russians dis played great address in performing this difficult feat. The only instances in which death has visited the Cabinet previous to the decease of Post-Mas ter General Brown, were the death of Mr. Up shur, while Secretary of State, and Mr. Gilmer, Secretary of the Navy, by the bursting of a can non on board the Princeton, and the death of Mr. Legare Attorney General, while accoinpanj ing John Taylor on a Presidential tour. “Dan,” said a little four years, “give me ten cents to buy a monkey.” “We’ve got one mon key in the house now,” said the elder brother “Who is it, Dan?’ said the little fellow. “You,” was the reply. ‘Then give me ten cents to buy the monkey some candy.” His brother “shelled out” immediately. In order to love mankind expect but little from them ; in order to view their faults without bitterness, we must accustom ourselves to par don them, and to perceive that indulgence is a justice which frail humanity has a right to de mand from wisdom. The wisest men have al ways been the most indulgent. A gentleman hailing from that island ot the sea so much noted for its snakes and shillalahs perpetrated the following bull: Mac, getting rather excited in a controversy with a fellow-clerk, told him, by way of ending the dispute, that “his head was so soft that it was hard to drive anything into !” “John,” quoth the gentle Julia, to her sleepy lord one warm morning at a late hour, “I wish you’d take pattern by the thermometer.” “As how?” muttered her worse half, opening her optics. “Why, by rising.” “H’m,lwish you would imitate that other fizmagig that hangs up by it—the barome ter.” “Why so ?” “‘Cause, then you’d let me know when a storm is coming.” Well matched that. When galvanic rings were sold to cure every ill that flesh is heir to, a lady asked of a friend who fondly cherished the delusion : “If galvanic rings would cute depression of spirits ?” “What has caused them ?” said the latter. “The loss of a husband,” mournfully replied the lady. “For that,” said he, holding forth his little fin ger upon which was the wedding ring of his de ceased wife, “gold is better. Let me place this upon the third finger of your left hand, and I can warrant a perfect cure.” A person following close behind a couple re turning from a juvenile party at a fashionable residence in Pittsfield, a few weeks since, hap pened to overhear the young gentleman thu3 ad dress his companion in a voice of the tenderest solicitude : “Charlotte Angelia, you must not set your youthful affections on me, for I am doomed to an early grave—mother says I’m troubled with worms.” An involuntary cough from the listener inter rupted the self-devoting reply which, of course, was leaping to Charlotte Angelina’s lips. . “As handy as snuff in a rag,” is a scant phrase sometimes used. Its origin we do not know ; but.here is a story that might originate a ‘saw:’ “ As handy as Adam Slouaker’s snuffer’s.” Adam Slouaker, a number of years ago, came to Huntingdon, Furnace, and seeing there, forthe first time, a pair of snuffers, asked, “What’s them fur ?” “To snuff the candle.” “To snuff the candle?” The candle just then needed attention, Adam with his thumb and finger pinched off the snuff, end carefully poked it into the snuffers, say iny : “Well, now, that is handy !” Ott the Other Side —Once in a happy home a sweet bright baby died. On the evening of the day when the children gathered around their mo ther, all sitting very sorrowful, Alice, the eldest, said: “Mother, you took all the cere ot the baby when she was here, and you carried and held her in your arms all the while she was ill; now, mo her, who took her on the other siue ?” “On the other side of what, Alice?” “On the other side of death; who took the baby on the other side mother? She was so little she could not go alone.’"’ “Jesus met her there,” answered the mother. “It is he who took little children in his arms to bless them, and said, “Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” He took the baby on the other side.” Some years ago there lived in old Yorktown a wealthy gentleman, Colonel , who was the nominal owner of an old negro named Billy. But Billy was in reality his own master, and in order to make a little money, with the least pos sible amount of labor, cleared out the rubbish> and swept some old excavations at Yorkstown’ that had been made and used by Cornwallis as his head-quarters when besieged at that place, and which were frequrntly visited by sight-seers, who always rewarded old Billy forshowing them around. The old fellow never, failed to tell, with great unction, of the capture of Cornwallis by Washington, which he professed to have witnes sed, and described in the following manner : “The General stationed himself behind a bush, on the lookout for his lordship, who soon came walking by, unsuspicious of danger, when the General suddenly jumped out and collared him, saying, ‘Ah, you blamed old rascal,,l’ve caught you at last ‘.’ ” s Excellent Cooks to t>e had Gratis. The Queen of Cana sent to Alexander the Great, while on his victorious progress through Asia Minor, two exquisite cooks, as a special expression of her regard. The young hero returned them with his com pliments and thanks to her majesty, and a message that he had brought with him two admirable cooks from Macedon, who pro vided him not only with a hearty supper but an excellent digestion, and had served him so well that he did not litre todischarge or change them. Their names were En crateia and Askesis ( Temperance and Ex ercise.) These cooks may be had yet, and yet after all the French discoveries in gas tronomy, there are none better. There are others of the same fami ly whose qualifications are of a high order. Some of them have rather long and (to our ears) uncouth names. (But one does not much mind the names of one’s cooks so their skill in their proper business be good.) There is Orthria—a name which we in En glish would call Early-rising, and Sgnomilia , (pleasant talk while taking one’s food.) There is a brother, too, of the same family called Hypnus (good, sound Sleep), and a sister again who bears almost too handsome a name for a cook, and yet why should not a cook have a graceful name, particularly so good a one ? Her name is Euphrosyne, and there is not her superior in all the family. She is especially skilled in season ing. She will often make a very plain din ner both wholesome and agreeable. Her name in English is Cheerfulness. But you cannot have her attendance without that of an elder sister between whom and her there is a mutual attachment like that of sub stance and shadow. In fact you can never have one without the other. This elder sis ter is of a serious but remarkably sweet and serene aspect. Her presence will bless the simplest repast, and in fact, dispel the gloom even of a poor and afflicted abode. And the most splendid abode and sumptu ous banquet are joyless without her. Her English name is Thankfulness. There was another sister in the family, bearing the somewhat long name of Hy droposia, whom Demosthenes used general ly to keep in attendance and thought her very helpful to a good appetite, a clear head and in general to a sound condition of body and mind. In English you would call her Water drinking. A large corps cuisinier this, and one would think at first, rather expensive for a family of moderate means. But not so. They can all be had without even smelling the hot air or paying the exhorbitant fee of an Intelligence Office. They will accept no wages for their services. And their virtues are so many that we could hardly get through them in the course of one column. No cook that ever came “from a gintleman’s family in Ire land” ever had half their qualifications. Saving was always reckoned an excellent quality in a cook. And these are superior in that respect; they waste nothing. They will make a very moderate income go agreat ways. For our part, we always liked cooks (as well as all other functionaries) that went about their business heartily and cheerfully. A sullen cook is enough to sour the nicest dishes she can put together. And these are so excellent in that respect that they will fill your whole house, above stairs and below with quiet hilarity which not even a smoking chimney nor another inconveni ence often associated with it will be able long to disturb. One is often bothered with the whims and caprices of cooks. It is so disturbing, just as one is beginning to settle down into something like domestic tranquility, to have one’s cook come and say, “Will you please hand me the balance of my wages. My month is out to-morrow, and I believe I’ll go.” But these cooks will stay with you till you positively drive them off. Alexander, unfortunately, did discharge Encrateia before hegot to Babylon. Though he had the empire of the world at his command, he never could replace her. He never digested his dinner well afterwards. And after a few miserable years, he caught a fever, (solely in consequence of her ab sence from his service,) and died amidst the tears of his splendid army in the prime of his life and at the height of his prosperi ty. A. Stolen In a western paper we lately read a no tice of the runaway marriage of a mascu line gawky and a beautiful, refined young girl, just “finished” from a “Female Semi nary.” The girl-lover was as highly elated with the idea of their forced marriage as was the verdant masculine party. The poetry of the young creature’s heart had transfig ured her lover’s coarse soul. The natural angles of his character were 10 her but so many projections forthe tendrils of her heart to twine around ; and so closely did her af fection clasp them, that they seemed to her distoited vision the counterpart of herself. How long will it be before these rough projec tions so irritate and wear the delicate fibers coiled about them as to cut them asunder ? Then, its beauty lost, the vine will trail in the dust. The elopement, it is said, was at the girl’s suggestion. Is this a fair result of the training at a “Young Ladies’ Semina ry?” We think it is. In that “Ladies’ Seminary” must have been a lack of some vital element—what was it? The young heart must, for a long time, have yearned for some object to love, when with natural refinement and high moral and intellectual culture, it could thus disregard fitness and filial duty, and precipitate itself into the possibilities of the future. A life of repentance is before the roman tic dreamer; nor will the bitterness of it be alleviated by a recollection of this rash act. And at the waning of the honeymoon, what will supply its luster to the now in toxicated husband ? What is to be expec ted from one who has disregarded the first duties of a child? Love is too sacred a sentiment to be thus burlesqued. Divine and delicious as it is, it brings the deepest and most sublime les sons to the soul. But solemn lessons, in chromatic tones, only can be taught by a stolen marriage. This hymenial notice reminds us of an other, also in a Western paper: “A year and a half ago, four young ladies were mar ried at the same hour. Two have since separated from their husbands, and the other two are trying to be separated.” It is time to cease making a farce of the holy relation of marriage. Consider fitness; weigh consequences; look your expecta tions in the face; scan your motives; de liberate—then act for life. That the young may be qualified for these processes, educate boys together, in a com mon-sense way. Give them sound princi ples instead of showy accomplishments, and they will be qualified to judge correctly of their needs, and to solve social problems, without the previous discipline of bitter experience.— Life Illustrated. A. Correct Remark. The Philadelphia News, in alluding to the late Washington tragedy, very justly re marks : “The idea that the victim, Key, was alone guilty in this case is preposterous. That he did wrong, gross and grievous wrong, is be yond a doubt, but the facts in the case do not show that he was the tempter. No woman, who is in truth bound by the ties of matrimony, ever falls without her own consent, and no wife can ever be effectually assailed by the arts of the most accomplish ed libertine, unless she herself shall give the invitation for so doing. There is that about a truly virtuous married woman, which will defy the artful designs of any man, and the idea that Mrs. Sickles, or her husband, either, have been injured in the case, without a cause, created by them selves, is supremely and superlatively ridi culous.” John B. Gough gave his farewell lecture at Edinburg, on Saturday evening, Februa ry 12, when he addressed a crowded audi ence of working men in Dunedin Hall— Bailie Stephenson presiding. Mr. Gough has gone to England, where it is expected, he will labor till next autumn. His recent visit to Scotland has been a very successful one. MY SHIPS. CAPRICE. I have ships upon the sea; Jt is long since they went forth, East and west and south and north, And I know not where they be— Though I watch still patiently For the hour of their return From some vague and distant bourne— For my ships to come from sea. None may know at what a cost I have sent my ventures forth, They were all my worldly worth ; If they perish all is lost! I shall never more be free— For I still must waiting stand Watching on a lonely strand, For my ships to come from sea. They have borne to some far mart All the treasure of my truth, All the freshness of my heart, All the glory of my youtn. They have ta’en away from me All the beauty of my life ; It is but a weary strife Till my ships come home from sea. They were freighted deep with faith ; They were richly stored with trust, Constancy that clings till deatii, And love beyond the “dust to dust.” They have ta’en my gayety And the blossoms of my hope— And the wheels of life must stop Till my ships come home from sea. When my ships come home from sea, They will bring me faithful friends, With no base and selfish ends In their tender love of me— One, than others far more dear, And a heart, like, but sincere, That which smoothed my trust last year— When my ships come home from sea. When my ships come home from sea, If they do not bring to me All my worldly wealth and need, I am bankrupt—lost, indeed ; Therefore by this treacherous wave Daily do I bend the knee, Saying, “They are all I have, Father, send my ships from sea !” Sometimes watching, I am sure Then I see an angel stand, With a lily in his hand, In the shadow of the door— Saying, “Not till they be pure As these stainless blossoms be, Shalt thou reach the happy shore Where the ships come home from sea !” Ah, I know it! lam glad That my watch is nearly past, That the shadow cometh fast, Stealing on with noiseless steps ; And I cannot know it sad, For it brings me near my ships! Near that haven fair and free, Where the ships come home from sea. Though I come there beggared— poor-r- Bitter ashes on my head ; Though the many tears I shed Have not made me heavenly pure, Surely, for my sorrowing past, Pitying and pardoning me, They will let me find at last, If my ships are come from sea. Eyes long dimmed with bitter tears, There shall softly shine again; Hearts weighed down by anxious pain, L.ghten through eternal years! There our errors are forgiven ; There our sunken treasures be— For it only is in heaven That our ships come home from sea! ■ Home Journal. Marwlial Bertrand and. tlie JVf alitia. It will be recollected by all our sedate, dignified, and middle aged readers, that shortly after the fall of Napoleon, when the grand ‘scatteration’ of princes, and no bles, and marshals, and kings took place, the United States received its full share. Marshal Bertrand was publicly received in New York on his arrival, and somewhat fatigued and considerably astonished with the attentions that were bestowed upon him by our then, and now illustrious and highly educated Common Council. Wish ing to run away from the fuss, noise, and feathers of these displays, he went down on Long Island a trout fishing. His fame had preceded him ; and as he was coming home to dinner one day, with a basket pretty well laden with trout, he suddenly came upon a company of Long Island militia that had been ordered out by special or ders from headquarters, as an escort or guard of honor to the late distinguished Marshal of the French Empire. Bertrand could not escape without reviewing the troops. According to all accounts there were twenty-seven men and boys drawn up in a row, each with a musket, with or with out bayonet, as the * case might be. The uniform of the company Bertrand could not readily make out, for it was necessary to inspect every article of dress and fire arms upon each indomitable hero of that well-fought field. But the militia captain strutted up in barn-fowl, rooster style, and sticking his sword as near into the belly of bertrand as his heroism allowed, he reques ted that great man to review his army. Consequently Bertrand marched up and down the file by the side of the comman der, and after going through all the vari ous ceremonies that are known on the great fields of history where troups by the ten thousand are reviewed, he suddenly stop ped, and lifted his hand high, with all the earnestness of a soldier, and the dignity of a great personage, said, “Monsieur Captain, I have seen the army of the Grand Turke, I have seen the army of the King of Prusse, I have seen the army of the Emperor of Russe, I have seen the army of the Empe ror d’Autriche, and Monsieur, I have seen the grand army of Napoleon,” and then folding his arms up>on his storm-beaten, sword-cut, battle-axe mince-meat breast, “but Monsieur, I never saw such a company as this, never ! never ! ! NEVER !!!’ We suppose they all adjourned to drink after this review. It is said, however, that the captain of this unconquered and un conquerable troop ‘still lives,’ and that he recounts this anecdote as among the me morable achievements of his military life.” Odd Books and Odd Qualities. —A wit ty auctioneer, once put up a package of odds and ends at a book-auction, as fol lows: “Here gentlemen, is a lot of odd volumes consisting of—let me see—Plutarch’s Lives, Daboll’s Arithmetic, Bacon’s Essays, Aris totle’s Ethics, American Almanac— and other works of a kindred character. Now, gentle men, what bid have I for this valuable col lection ?” Some men’s characters seem to resemble such a packet. There are good things in them—very good. But the elements that make them up are odd and ill-assorted. There is no common bond, no single aim, no commanding principle, in a word, no unity to harmonize and concentrate the whole, and inspire the beholder with that sentiment of respect and admiration which we never feel save in the presence of har mony, whether it be of material or of moral things. The bond that holds these hetero geneous qualities together is a good deal like the bit of twine that surrounded the auctioneer’s bundle. It is a mere outward and circumstantial affair. There is nothing of that moral identity, those deep, mutual relations which are the result of a dominant principle and a high aim, to the attainment of which all the powers are directed. On the contrary, a harmonious and well devel oped character, thus poised and directed by its own inward forces, is through all its va rious manifestations, like one work in many volumes, each of which hightens the interest and completes the significance of the rest. This Beautiful World! —Ab4 this beau tiful world! I know not what to think of it. Sometimes it is all and glad ness, and heaven itself lies not far off—and then it suddenly changes, and is dark and sorrowful, and the clouds shut out the day. In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the world in our arms. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will j not burn on our hearths, and all within is I dismal, cold and dark. Believe me, every I heart hasjts secret sorrows which the world! knows not, and oftentimes we call a maJ cold when he is only sad.— Longfellow. M if| It is said that onejpf the strong-mjH women in New Yore ‘ has challenges “ Benicia Boy” to a trial of